


The Fluff of Tom Holland (Gay One-Shot Collection)

by holeofholland



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Awkward Crush, Awkward Dates, Bookstores, Boyfriends, Clubbing, Couch Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dating, Double Dating, Drinking Games, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Dates, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Forehead Kisses, Gay Tom Holland, Holding Hands, Hugs, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, Meet-Cute, Morning Cuddles, Neck Kissing, No Smut, On Set, One Shot Collection, Post-Coital Cuddling, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Gestures, Secret Relationship, Slow Dancing, Surprise Kissing, Sweet/Hot, Tom is a Sweetheart, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:08:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28633035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holeofholland/pseuds/holeofholland
Summary: A collection of fluffy one-shots centered around an original character and Tom Holland.
Relationships: Tom Holland/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	1. The Comic Con Panel

**Author's Note:**

> All these one-shots are fluffy in nature. There may occasionally be sexual content but it's implied/not explicit. All characters, including the original narrator, are 18+ in age. None of the one-shots really follow a solid plotline.

“So, yeah, I hope that answered your question,” Tom says sheepishly onstage. He grips the microphone lazily between a couple of fingers and smiles down at a girl in the panel audience. She’s a petite thing with sleek black hair and a _Spider-Man_ snapback hat. When Tom meets her eyes, she practically faints.

“Yesitdidthankyou,” she squeaks out, then drops to her seat where her friends clamber around her. They’re beyond belief that _the_ Tom Holland spoke to one of their own, that he even acknowledged them. Though just a simple ten-minute interaction, Tom answering her question will probably go down as one of the best things to happen in the girl’s life. And honestly, I can’t blame her.

Onstage, Tom chuckles gleefully at the young fans before turning to the moderator. It’s a silent signal that he’s ready for another question. The moderator, a man I’ve come to know quite well in the past few days, obliges.

He stands and addresses the audience. “Are there any more questions for Tom?”

Immediately, dozens of hands shoot into the air, mine included. For show, the moderator contemplates the potential questions before him. I know which one he’ll pick though.

“You there,” he points and I stand. “What’s your question.”

A woman among the audience shoves a microphone into my hand. Without meeting Tom’s eyes and while deepening my voice, I ask, “Who’s your favorite person in the entire world?”

Tom immediately reddens. He swipes at the back of his neck and stammers out nearly incomprehensibly. “Uh, yeah…it…well…yeah.”

“Well?” I press and the audience roars with laughter. Tom joins in but rather sheepishly. I’m taking too much pleasure in it.

“I guess my dog, right? Tessa is a sweetheart and—”

“Someone human,” I interject. Surprisingly, Tom recovers quickly.

“Well, I can’t pick a favorite. That’s asking the impossible.”

“Ah, plugging a movie. Nice trick. But, seriously, your answer?”

Tom creases his brow and looks hard at me. I’m certain he’s figured me out. “I can’t pick a favorite person. Can we move on?” He glances at the moderator who has miraculously disappeared. Though, not really.

“You really don’t have a favorite person?” I continue. “Someone who loves you and treats you better than anyone else? Someone who rubs your back in bed when you’ve been filming all day?”

“I—”

“There’s got to be someone, Tom. Perhaps someone more than a friend?”

The audience is dead silent, awaiting Tom’s answer. Up until now, neither of us have confirmed any rumors. People have made assumptions, of course, but never before has anything been set in stone.

“Okay, my mum is great,” Tom attempts but I knock him down.

“Someone you can kiss, Tom.”

“I can kiss my mom.”

“With tongue.”

The audience “oohs” musically. No one is laughing. Everyone is invested in the confrontation of Tom Holland.

“Look, you asked your question. It’s someone else’s turn.” Immediately, hands jump in the air. Tom calls upon one. “Yeah, you.”

“I want you to answer his question,” a plump girl declares.

Tom groans. He fiddles with the microphone for a moment before saying, “If there are no more questions, the panel will conclude.”

And now, for the last phase of the plan.

I step out of the audience and head towards the stage. As I march confidently, sure no one will stop me, I condemn Tom. “I think someone would be awfully disappointed in you. For you to blatantly deny having a favorite person. It’s madness.”

“Oh, my God,” Tom gasps as he sees me climb the stage stairs. “You gotta go back down there, man. You can’t—”

He stops. I’m close enough now that I can see his eyes and I’m sure the same goes for him. As I draw nearer, Tom loosens, until I fall against him. His arms instinctively wind around me. His chin nestles on the top of my head.

“I can’t believe you did that,” he scolds, though there’s a hint of laughter in his tone.

He brings the microphone to his mouth then and explains everything to the audience. “Guys, I’m so sorry. This is…” He trails off as I look up into those cocoa-colored eyes. “This is my boyfriend.”

“Tom…”

“And I love him very much.”

From the audience, the black-haired girl stands. “I fucking knew it!” She points accusingly at Tom and me. For a moment, I’m scared she’s going to incite a riot. Instead, she smiles wider than should be humanly possible. “My OTP was right, bitches!”

I chuckle at that and look at Tom again. He smiles at me. “I guess we shouldn’t deprive her then, huh?”

“Guess not,” I say.

Tom kisses me then and the black-haired girl faints. It isn’t until Tom and I have come up for air that we notice the pair of paramedics slouched beside her. We rush to her side then and wait as she comes to. When she does, she smiles up at us.

“Totally worth it,” she breathes before dropping back into unconsciousness.


	2. The Dye Job

“Nope. No. Absolutely, positively no.”

I stand in the Holland family kitchen, _Super Drug_ bag in one hand and a box of blonde hair bleach in the other. Tom, still dressed in his pajamas, sits on a stool with his arms crossed defiantly. His eyes are crusty from sleep and his cheeks are red with frustration.

Beside Tom, Harry swivels on his own stool, mindlessly picking at a chipped piece of leather on the seat. “You made the deal. You’ve gotta stick to it, mate.”

“It was just a joke,” Tom defends. “We were just taking the piss.”

I roll my eyes. “Hardly, Thomas. If I recall correctly—”

“And he always does,” Harry jumps in before motioning for me to continue.

“—your exact words were, ‘If I lose this round, you can do whatever you want to my hair.’”

“I thought you might cut it or something!” Tom throws his hands out wildly. “I wouldn’t have made a deal if I knew you were planning to turn me into an Essex girl.”

“That’s a stereotype.”

Tom cuts his eyes at his brother. “Your one to talk.”

“How?”

“With your…oh, I don’t know! I just know I’m not dying my hair.”

I shrug and sit the hair bleach on the counter. At the same moment, Harrison steps into the kitchen. I turn to him and smile innocently. “Hazza, love?”

He perks at his name. “Yeah?”

“Tom’s being an ass and I decided he no longer deserves cuddles. Would you like them instead?”

“ _What?_ ” Tom jumps to his feet and stares bewilder as I allow Harrison to lace his arms around my waist. “You can’t be serious.”

I feel Harrison shrug. “Sorry, mate. I’m not about to pass up on these world class cuddles.”

Harry snickers at this and Tom, again, cuts his eyes at his brother. He’s silent for a moment, mulling over the situation. I can tell he’s thinking about last night, about the game of beer pong that had grown boring with simple drinks. We’d all suggested a dare for team captains. When Tom gave his punishment for losing, I knew exactly what I wanted to do.

“This is blackmail,” Tom eventually says.

“Yeah,” I admit, “but do you really have a choice in the matter?”

He physically deflates, his shoulders sagging, and climbs back onto the stool. “Just don’t stain my shirt.”

I pull free from Harrison’s grasp excitedly and dive into the hair bleach, setting out the contents of the little box onto the counter. After mixing the ingredients into that nozzle-adorned bottle and slipping on some gloves, I begin squirting the bleach into Tom’s chestnut curls. It has a noticeable scent that makes the entire room cringe.

“Fucking hell,” Harry curses while leaping away. “Did a cat piss in that bottle?”

I continue working in the bleach for a little while, until Tom’s entire head is a sopping mess of blue. Harrison hands me a rather large piece of clingwrap then and I affix it to the messy job.

Tom turns to me when I’m done. “How does it look?”

“It’ll take a while to activate,” I explain. “But so far, it’s not bad.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Was it so bad?”

“Maybe not. Though a kiss might take that ‘maybe’ away.”

“You’re a dork.” I lean in anyway and press my lips against Tom’s. Immediately, he dives into my mouth and works himself around, settling into that familiar position. It’s tantalizing, mesmerizing, and distracting enough that I don’t notice he’s grabbed my hand and forced it into my hair.

I jump back, squealing. I’m still wearing the bleach-soaked gloves. “Oh, you’re such an ass!”

Tom laughs hysterically, doubling over and pointing out his joke to Harry and Harrison. They laugh too, though, to their credit, they try to disguise it with coughs. I’m the only one not taking joy in having my hair streaked blonde.

“I’ve gotta wash it out,” I announce frantically and race towards the sink. Tom stops me halfway with his arms around my waist. He pulls me against him.

“No, leave it in. We’ll match.”

“God, you piss me off sometimes. You know that?”

“I do.” He smiles cheekily and pulls me into another kiss.

Beside us, Harry clears his throat awkwardly. “So, what do we do for forty-five minutes?”

“We could always play beer pong again,” I recommend. “Maybe I can dye your hair pink next.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Tom retorts cheekily.

I feign indecisiveness. “Mm, maybe tonight. If you’re lucky…”

I peel out of Tom’s grasp then and make my way into the living room. Tom trails behind me but not before telling his brother, “God, what would I do without him?”


End file.
